Reversal
by cheride
Summary: Just who is learning what from whom?


**Author's Note:** "The Birthday Present" Author's Note: "The Birthday Present". It was an amazing episode on so many levels, and L.M. Lewis and I seem to have made steady work of writing stories stemming from it. Because we thought the pieces worked best as parts of a whole, we gathered them all up and placed them in one of the STAR for Brian 'zines, including a few that hadn't been posted previously. It won't be long until the very last bit of the Weed Randall story cycle is posted here, and if you're interested in reading about the series of events in a mostly chronological fashion, they would go like this: _Be Careful What You Wish For_, _Moment of Impact_, _Lost Souls—Part I_, _For the Record_, _Being There_, _Lost Souls—Part II_, _Blood_, _Resilience_, _Reversal_, _Death Wish_, _Trust_, _Repose_.

Thanks as always to L.M. for everything she does, to Owl for beta duties above and beyond, and to everyone who supported the STAR campaign.

**Reversal**

By Cheride

"You sure you don't want to come along, kiddo?"

There was a glimmer of hope on Hardcastle's face, though he thought he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

McCormick looked across at the older man. "I will, if that's what you want," he said sincerely. "But, Judge, he doesn't want to see me."

"Ah, what're ya talkin' about? Why wouldn't he want to see you? You're friends; we're all friends."

Mark shook his head. "_You're_ friends," he corrected. "_We're_ acquaintances who tolerate each other because of you. Trust me; he doesn't want to see me, especially now."

"And you don't want to see him, huh?" Hardcastle asked knowingly. "It really isn't about what he wants."

McCormick's tone was flat as he rose from the table. "Well, I guarantee you, Judge, not a lot of this has been about what_ I _want."

Hardcastle watched quietly as the other man placed his coffee cup in the sink, then exited out the back door without further comment. Not long ago, he thought he might've paid good money for a few weeks without the typical McCormick smart-ass quips, or the occasional burst of anger. But now he knew he'd give just about anything he had to get the kid back to normal.

00000

Hardcastle steered the Corvette through the traffic more sedately than normal. It really hadn't been all that long since his doctors—and McCormick—had given him the go ahead to start driving again, and he didn't intend to do anything to make them re-think their decision. He was ready to be in control of something again.

On that point, he thought he and the kid were probably in complete agreement. Neither one of them were comfortable with the rather odd role reversal that had been taking place for the past several weeks, with McCormick stepping up to shepherd him through a painful recovery process. And while all the medical experts had declared that process miraculously speedy, Hardcastle himself thought it had been excruciatingly slow. He thought it had probably seemed even longer for McCormick. But as he flipped on the blinker and accelerated cautiously into the passing lane, Hardcastle took a moment to reflect that he really wasn't sure about anything McCormick was thinking these days, and it was possible that this fact was bothering him more than anything else.

He shook his head slightly. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that McCormick hadn't wanted to come along on today's visit. Trips to the county lock-up were never high on the ex-con's list, and spending time with Sandy Knight wasn't far behind. There had been a time when Hardcastle thought maybe the two younger men were putting aside their differences and finding some common ground, and at the time, he thought nothing could've pleased him more. As he pulled into the parking lot, he wondered why that had ever seemed so important.

00000

Hardcastle was fidgeting as he sat in the private consultation room. It was an unnatural action, but he thought nothing could be more unnatural than sitting in this room, waiting for Sandy Knight—recently of the LAPD—to be brought in from the cells. He felt a little guilty when the thought ran through his mind that it might've seemed less unusual had it been McCormick he was waiting to visit.

_But not for this_, he corrected himself quickly. No. McCormick's impulsiveness might get him into some tight spots from time to time, but he'd never had to worry that the kid was going to float right off the deep end and toss an unarmed civilian into the trunk of a car in the commission of some sort of insane vendetta. That much he was sure of, even now.

The judge forced himself into stillness as the door opened and Knight was ushered inside. Then the door was closed again, and they were alone in the room.

Sandy pulled out the waiting chair and seated himself, then smiled across the table. "Milt. It's good to see you. How are you?"

It took Hardcastle a moment to respond, as he thought maybe _unnatural_ didn't adequately cover this situation. The greeting Sandy had just uttered would've been perfectly suited for their monthly dinner at Gull's Way or a chance encounter at a country club. With his just-so hair, engagingly white smile, and confident air, Knight radiated the serenity of a man in control of his destiny. Only the basic denim ensemble with LACO stenciled on the front gave him away.

"Hi, Sandy," he finally answered, trying for his own brand of normal. "How ya doin'?"

Knight was still smiling. "I'm okay, Milt, really." He glanced around the room as if he had noticed their surroundings for the first time, and the smile slipped just a little. "Though I'm sorry you had to come down here and see me like this. But at least they gave you a private room."

"I wouldn't have thought you were spending too much time with the general population, one way or the other."

"Well, no," Sandy admitted, "not really. They keep me pretty well isolated. I don't think that's really necessary, but it didn't seem to be negotiable."

"All cops have enemies," Hardcastle said reasonably, "no matter what beat they were working. There's plenty of people in here who'd like to take a run at you just because you used to carry a badge, so let these people do their job and keep you safe."

Sandy nodded. "Sure, Milt. I'm being careful."

"Good." And then there was another moment of silence, as Hardcastle wondered what, exactly, he was supposed to say next. It occurred to him then that McCormick had had the right idea about staying home. Maybe this was just too weird to be good for anyone.

"I'm sorry I didn't get around to see you much in the hospital," Knight said, breaking into the judge's thoughts. "It's not that I wasn't worried. And you were resting a lot."

"Oh, I know that. And McCormick told me whenever you came by."

"He did?"

"Sure." Hardcastle didn't understand the other man's disbelief. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know," Knight stammered, "that's not what I meant. I just meant—"

"Don't worry about it," Hardcastle interrupted quickly. "I'm through trying to make you guys be friends, but you don't need to be thinkin' that he'd do something as childish as not tellin' me you'd stopped by." He thought that might've come out a little more sternly than he'd intended, but he suddenly found himself unreasonably annoyed with the other man's insinuation. Maybe he should forget the small talk and just say the thing that had been on his mind for weeks.

"Sandy . . . what were you thinking?"

What remained of Knight's lingering smile vanished as he pursed his lips together thoughtfully. He seemed surprised by the question; though Hardcastle thought it was the one thing he should've expected. In truth, the judge had mostly assumed that avoiding this very question was the reason his long-time friend hadn't spent much time at the hospital, at least up until the point the man had been taken into custody.

After a moment, Knight spoke evenly. "What is it you'd like me to say, Milt? I understand it was illegal, if that's your point."

"Illegal?" Hardcastle leaned back a little in his chair and cast an appraising look at the man he thought he knew. "What about _wrong_?"

Sandy just shook his head slightly. "I was just a kid when my Dad died; I couldn't do anything. But I'm not a kid anymore. I wasn't going to just stand by and watch you die. And, besides," he added, "you're the one who taught me about flagrant necessity."

"Then you weren't paying attention to the lesson," the judge answered firmly. "This wasn't necessary; this was a personal vendetta."

Knight was unrepentant. "Somebody had to do something. No one else seemed to think it was important."

Hardcastle ignored the jab, but he couldn't quite control the angry sarcasm in his tone. "So why'd you cop a plea, if you don't think you did anything wrong? Why not fight it?"

"I'm not trying to make excuses, Milt," the younger man said more kindly, moving toward appeasement. "I told you, I know I broke the law. And a trial would've been bad for the department. They offered false imprisonment, which was a lot better than kidnapping, so I took it. I figured that's what you would've told me to do, if I'd been able to talk to you about it."

"Probably," Hardcastle conceded. "A trial could've gotten ugly, and it's unlikely that you were ever gonna beat the rap."

"That's what my lawyer said."

"But, dammit, there shouldn't have had to be a trial. Did you really think I'd want you going after Randall like that?"

"I thought you were going to die."

"And since when did cops start going after people for revenge? Your dad and I both taught you better than that."

"So that's the difference," Sandy muttered. "It's because I'm a cop."

"It's not _just_ because you're a cop," Hardcastle protested. "Though cops should have a responsibility toward justice, rather than revenge, don't you think?"

"Would it have been justice to let him get away?" demanded Sandy. "He needed to go to jail."

"You didn't want to put him in jail; you wanted to kill him."

"And Mark _did_ kill him!"

Hardcastle stared across the table. Judging from the expression on the other face, he would say that Sandy hadn't intended to actually say that, though it was also clear that he'd probably been _wanting_ to say it for quite some time. He tried to stay reasonable.

"He didn't _want_ to kill Randall, Sandy; he did it to save _you_."

"I was a handy excuse," Sandy spat out bitterly.

Hardcastle was hit with a terrible thought. "You didn't say that to McCormick, did you?" he demanded.

"He hated Randall as much as I did, maybe more. How can you not see that?"

"I'll tell you what I don't see," Hardcastle retorted, leaning forward on the table, "and that's how you can be trying to turn this around on McCormick. God, Sandy, you both could've died, because you went running off with murder on your mind. And McCormick's parole was almost revoked; did you know that? Do you even care? They wanted to remove him from my custody because of this. It's been hell for him, too."

"'Almost revoked', 'wanted to remove him', 'hell for him'," Knight parroted the words sarcastically. "Sure, but nothing really happened. He came out of this smelling like a rose, and I lost my job and ended up in jail. I was a cop; he's an ex-con, and he's the guy who pulled the trigger. How did this happen?"

And then, almost as if his tirade had taken everything he had, Knight slumped down into his chair, and the anger drained from his face. He looked back at his mentor disconsolately and repeated his question.

"How did this happen, Milt?"

Hardcastle sighed and shook his head sadly. "I dunno, Sandy. Just a lot of really bad stuff. It doesn't always make a lot of sense."

"Yeah, I guess." He paused for a moment, then added, "Look, I wasn't really trying to blame Mark. I know he saved my life. And . . . I know he did that mostly for you."

"No, Sandy, he would've—"

Knight held up his hand. "No, Milt. I just meant that he understood what was important to you. He even tried to remind me, but I was too caught up in everything to listen." His eyes implored the other man's understanding. "I couldn't stand the idea of losing you, Milt. But I'm sorry I disappointed you. That's the last thing I ever wanted to do."

Hardcastle opened his mouth to respond, his instinct to reassure, but then realized he couldn't lie to the younger man. He settled for, "We all make mistakes, Sandy; what's important is that we learn from them."

Seeming to understand that was the closest to absolution he would get; Sandy just nodded as he looked around the room. "Well, I'm definitely learning from this one." He looked back at the judge. "I'm glad you came today, Milt, but I don't think you should come anymore."

This was an objection Hardcastle thought he could muster with more conviction. "_Why_? Sandy, you don't have to go through this alone. It's not forever, and you don't have to worry about what I think." He tried a small smile. "Some of my best friends are convicted felons, ya know."

"No," Sandy answered with his own smile, though his was sad, "_one_ of your best friends is a convicted felon, and I think maybe you've only got room for one. Besides," he continued quickly, before Hardcastle could object, "it's just possible that he's learned more from you than I have."

"It's not a contest," the judge answered. "It never has been."

"Maybe not for you."

Hardcastle watched as Knight pushed himself from his chair and headed for the door. Again, he felt that he should offer some type of reassurance, but all he could think was, if Sandy had considered it a competition, what had McCormick thought? But, still, _this_ kid was his responsibility, too. They were both his friends.

"Sandy—"

Sandy turned back as he reached the door. "Milt, I am glad that you're okay. Really. That makes everything else a lot easier. And this," he gestured quickly at the room, the locked door, "this is only a year, eight months if I behave. When I'm out, when I'm settled again, I'll drop by, if that's okay, but I don't want you to see me like this again. That isn't easy for me. You're not making accusations, but I see the disappointment in your eyes. And even if _you're_ not disappointed, I am. But what really worries me, Milt, is that I'm not sure we're disappointed for the same reasons, and I can't sort that out in here. So let me do this alone, okay?"

And, much to Hardcastle's chagrin, there wasn't a single thing about the request that didn't make at least a little bit of sense, so he simply nodded slowly. "Okay. But you know how to reach me if you change your mind, if you need anything at all."

Giving a quick knock on the door, Sandy flashed a genuine smile. "Just like always, Milt; that's why you're the best." Then he let the officer lead him out of the room.

The judge sat silently for several long moments before he pushed himself slowly to his feet and made his own way through the door.

00000

Hardcastle wouldn't have thought the drive home could've been any more somber than the trip out, but then, he hadn't really expected Sandy's reaction, either. It seemed the young man was full of surprises lately.

And yet, while he had been surprised by Knight, he could admit to himself that he'd also been just a bit relieved to be dismissed, though he wasn't particularly proud of that idea. But Sandy was right; he _was_ disappointed in his young friend. Time would help him deal with that, he supposed, but he thought it would be easier without constantly seeing the guy behind bars. Besides, he could also admit that he was still kind of angry, though he was trying to let that go.

And, even more troubling was the idea that not all of his disappointment and anger was directed at Sandy Knight. He thought he was saving a pretty fair amount of both for himself. He sighed loudly, letting the air whoosh out of him, willing the frustration out in the process. It didn't work.

"Dammit," he muttered.

He thought about the past couple of years, and the monthly dinners with Sandy. For all of McCormick's whining about it all, the kid had mostly been a good sport about everything. Then he was reminded of Sandy's idea that there had been unspoken competition between the two. He really hadn't intended that. Not exactly.

He shook his head as he pulled into the drive at Gull's Way, and hoped suddenly that he hadn't been _too_ obvious in his wish that just a little bit of the officer's sensibilities would rub off on the ex-con.

00000

The judge smiled slightly to himself as he saw the kid look up nonchalantly from his half-hearted hedge trimming. Of course, it was fairly early in the year; Hardcastle doubted there was really much trimming needed.

"Hey, kid," he greeted casually, as he parked the 'Vette out front, and started toward the house.

He took in the push broom lying out of the way beside the front steps; it was the one Mark used to clean the drive area. And the window cleaning materials sitting on the porch explained the glistening glass in the door. Apparently simply sitting around waiting wasn't the way to play this particular scene, but McCormick clearly hadn't intended to miss his return.

He held the door for the man who was—of course—following along behind.

"You okay?" McCormick asked, reaching above Hardcastle's head to take the door himself. He gestured the older man inside.

"Sure," Hardcastle answered, as he stepped into the entryway. He could feel the eyes examining him as he continued into the den. He dropped into his chair behind the desk, and pulled the waiting stack of mail toward him. Then he smiled across at McCormick, who was using an ottoman for a chair, and trying to perform a discreet assessment.

"It's not the first time I've been out of your sight, kiddo."

"No," McCormick agreed with a sheepish grin, and seemed to relax a little. "But you could've taken the truck."

"I wanted to take the 'Vette."

"You drive too fast in the 'Vette."

Hardcastle simply stared, letting his expression do all the talking, and, finally, McCormick seemed to get the point, and gave a genuine laugh.

"Okay," he conceded, "I probably don't get to complain too much about someone else's driving speed."

"No, you don't," the judge agreed with a grin. "_Ever_." He began flipping routinely through the envelopes, waiting for the rest of the questions.

"But you didn't have any problems?"

"Nope."

"Or get too tired?"

"I'm fine, kid."

McCormick contemplated the other man a moment longer, then seemed to accept the answer. "Okay. Good."

He paused, then continued casually, "So, how was Sandy?"

"He's okay, I guess. He's adjusting." Hardcastle had begun sorting the envelopes into two piles.

"They're not giving him too much grief in there, I hope?"

"Nah. They're keeping him mostly segregated." He glanced up in time to see the grimace on the younger face. "It's for the best," he added.

"I suppose." McCormick didn't seem convinced.

"At least he's safe," Hardcastle insisted.

"Yeah, I know. And, besides, you can visit him a lot, so that'll make it better."

Hardcastle set the mail aside completely. "You're worried about him." He hadn't really intended to sound quite so surprised, though he knew that's how it had come out. But, somehow, it just seemed wrong that Mark should be worrying about Sandy.

But McCormick took it in stride with a shrug. "He's not exactly the prison type, Judge. And segregation sucks."

"The prison type? He assaulted a guy, then kidnapped him, all in an effort to get information to carry out a cold-blooded murder. That might qualify him as the 'prison type'."

Hardcastle was startled by the edge of bitterness in his own tone, but he still couldn't quite believe it had all happened. And, he wasn't having as much luck letting go of that anger as he'd hoped.

"I told you he was worried about you," McCormick was saying, as if that justified everything.

"And you weren't?" the judge snapped, not certain why his frustration was being turned on his friend.

But even now, McCormick didn't seem willing to be led into an argument. "Of course I was," he answered calmly. "But Sandy . . . well, it was all too much for him for just a while. But it's not like he's a hardened criminal, Judge, so don't be too hard on him for too long."

Hardcastle stared mutely for a few seconds, marveling at the defense from such an unexpected source. Finally he sighed heavily. "He told me not to come any more," he said. He scooped the larger pile of mail off the desk and dropped it into the trashcan, letting McCormick absorb the words.

"I'm sorry," Mark said simply.

Hardcastle raised an inquiring eyebrow. "You don't seem particularly surprised."

"I thought it was a possibility," the younger man admitted.

"Really?"

"Well . . ." McCormick paused, then swallowed and continued, "I think it's what I would've done."

"_What?_"

"Well, I mean if I had . . . if I was ever . . . if it was because . . ." Finally he sighed himself and said, "I'd never want to let you down like that."

"And you didn't," Hardcastle assured him, letting his eyes meet the pair across the room. "Not in any of this, not ever."

And as he watched the small smile play across the young face, Hardcastle thought again about competition between his two friends. He thought maybe next year they'd start their monthly dinners again.

It seemed Sandy had a few things to learn.


End file.
